


Sway

by magebird



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kink Meme, Mind Control, Pre-Slash, Vague Adherence to Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8221853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magebird/pseuds/magebird
Summary: The soldier is taken by Talon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Talon got its claws on Soldier 76, dragged him in kicking and screaming and now Reper has new brainwashed companion to run assignments with. Its nice, for a while. They work together just like they did way back when, but Jack offers no commentary or one-liners, sometimes Gabriel forgets he's there. After skirmishes his handlers take him away to shove him in his cryo locker until he's needed again, treating him more like a tool then a man. Gabriel is sickened, and plots to bust Jack out.
> 
> \+ brainwashing withdrawal, missing memories, "I feel like I know you but I don't know how,"  
> \+ Reaper is heartbroken at the amount of damage Talon did, give me all the one aided romance pls  
> \+ eventualy Jack gets his memories back, cause fluff is life
> 
> https://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/679.html?thread=759463#cmt759463

The blank visor reflected back Reaper's own mask, no hint of the face beyond visible. Even if Reaper hadn't known who it was, it would have been obvious. He knew that stance too well, the set of his shoulders and the broad expanse of his chest. It almost hurt to look at him, standing there impassive and stiff while a man with a tablet looked him over. 

"I'll assume you're grinning," said the man next to Reaper. Every organization needed middle management, and they were as unpleasant in Talon as they'd been anywhere else. "He's completely under our control at this point. Device in his neck. What do you think?"

Reaper didn't respond for a minute, watching the man before them lift an arm at the command of his handler. 

"Does he know who he is?" Reaper asked.

"Huh? Who cares? He'll do anything he's told. Doesn't matter what's going on in his head." Glee crept into the manager's voice. "He can take complex instructions, too! His muscle memory is completely intact. It's a brilliant little piece of tech, it'll really turn the tide here."

"Mm." Reaper's stomach clenched with discomfort. He'd been the one to pin Jack to the wall, holding him there until the tranquilizer took effect and he went limp, then handing him over to their medics. This should have felt like an accomplishment. Wasn't this what they'd been working towards with all their efforts? Getting the golden boy to bend to Talon's will meant they could get anyone. 

He turned away, starting back towards the door. 

"Hey! Where are you going? They're going to put him through an obstacle course next!" yelled the manager. 

Reaper sighed. "Not interested," he grumbled, reaching the door and shoving it open.

Back in his quarters, Reaper sat in the fading light from the window and wished he could actually pour himself a drink. Even if he bothered keeping alcohol on hand, he knew it would do nothing to his altered body and would be a waste of time. Still, it would have been nice to be able to take the edge off. 

They sent him out with Jack the next week. It wasn't a tough assignment, just extracting an informant, and if they played their cards right the whole thing would fly right under the radar of any would-be authorities. It was ideal for Jack's debut-- even if he failed, Reaper would be perfectly capable of picking up the pieces. 

Jack performed, though. The thick stutter of his rifle was familiar and Reaper knew how to move around him and cover the flanks. They were in and out before their target could even mount a proper response and on the transport on the way back, Reaper stood across from Jack. 

He had his rifle resting across his knees, back straight and seatbelt fastened. His visor was still on, too, though the Jack that Reaper remembered was always quick to set it aside when the mission was over. The silence felt wrong. Jack should be cheering their success, or worrying over their mistakes. Instead, he looked straight ahead and didn't speak. 

"Quiet guy, huh?" the informant asked.

Reaper gave her a glance, wishing that his mask could translate the disdain he felt. "Shut up."

As soon as they reached the hangar, a gaggle of handlers descended on Jack, taking readings and herding him towards the elevator. The rifle was plucked from his limp grasp and whisked away. Someone reached to grab for his visor and Reaper looked away quickly. Somehow he knew that seeing Jack's face would be a bad idea. 

Reaper heard that Jack had been put back into stasis until his next mission. As far as his handlers were concerned, it had been a brilliant success. No deviations from the mission parameters, no evidence of free will. Reaper had the security clearance to read the reports, though he wished he hadn't. 

It was hard to avoid Jack around the base. He had no legitimate excuse to disobey command when they told him to go through drills with their favorite new plaything. The twisting sensation in his gut the first time he saw those blue eyes staring at him blankly was not an officially sanctioned reason, even if it ached like a physical pain to know that he wasn't even recognized. It wasn't Jack, he told himself. It wasn't really Jack. 

The soldier performed like a robot, every movement precise but devoid of meaning. Every time he finished an order, the tension drained out of him and he went into what the handlers had started calling "standby mode." There was no joking around, no drive to do better next time. Reaper missed the jokes, the encouragement, the commiseration. Jack's body was there, but for all that command expected Reaper to be pleased at having his old comrade with him, it just felt like a nightmare. 

A few weeks after the soldier's debut in the field, they'd been set doing reload drills in one of the shooting ranges. It was simple, but keeping the process branded into muscle memory made it infinitely easier in the field.

The soldier's handlers were sitting on the bench near the door while he and Reaper went through the motions. It was really for the soldier's benefit-- he needed to get used to Reaper stepping in to guard while he was vulnerable for those few seconds in between cartridges. 

The soldier was down on one knee in the dirt, starting to eject the cartridge, when Reaper saw his hand clench slightly, then fumble. It was the first mistake Reaper had ever seen the soldier make, but when he glanced towards his handlers, they were looking at something on a tablet and hadn't seemed to notice. The soldier stopped, fingers hovering above his weapon.

When he looked up and towards Reaper, there was a little crease between his eyebrows. His pupils dilated slightly, focusing. 

"What?" he said, his voice raspy from lack of use. "I..."

Reaper's stomach dropped and he lowered the shotgun he'd been holding, staring back. If he'd had a heartbeat, it would have been racing, and he threw a glance towards the handlers again. They hadn't heard Jack's voice. 

"You're reloading," he said, and Jack's gaze dropped back to his rifle. His fingers stuttered back into motion, freeing the cartridge and setting it aside and, just like that, the soldier was back. 

In his report that night, Reaper wrote that the soldier had performed perfectly. He didn't hesitate before he submitted it.

The soldier didn't flicker again for a month and a half. Every mission was smooth and easy-- the two of them had always worked well together, and with human error all but disappearing on the soldier's part, it was even better than it had been. Reaper hated the way the soldier would step over the bodies of those he killed without even a moment of remorse, but he couldn't deny that they were succeeding.

Whenever they returned to the base, the handlers were there, taking the soldier and tuning him up or correcting any minor deviations from the norm they'd noticed. He showed no resistance to being led around, but Reaper didn't like how rough and impersonal they were with him. Once, he'd seen them remove the soldier's visor roughly enough to cut his cheek, and no one had even bothered to wipe the blood until Reaper growled that it was going to stain his collar. It was a small thing, but it rankled in a way that Reaper knew he shouldn't indulge. 

So far, they hadn't sent the soldier directly up against Overwatch. Perhaps they didn't trust his conditioning to hold up against such a direct pressure, but it could easily have just been coincidence. The ivory-tower fools were fighting a different kind of war at the moment, trying to build good PR and recruit new idealists for their ranks. Talon was taking the opportunity to spread their influence through the darker shadows that Overwatch was casting with its glow. 

One of those dark corners was a weapons manufacturer in Indonesia who supplied Talon with a steady stream of guns and ammo. It had never been a fully legitimate operation, but Talon's funding had helped them build out and start producing more than ever. 

They'd been tipped off about a potential raid by the local authorities about three days in advance, and that was more than enough time to get Reaper and the soldier in place to counter it. A show of force would likely be enough to get the relatively weak officials to back off and leave the factory alone, but standing in the darkened warehouse waiting for a fight felt tense regardless. 

All the workers had been sent away and the machinery locked down in preparation, and the soldier crouched with his rifle held ready and pointing towards the main door. Reaper was above, ready to flank their main push and break up the charge. He knew that Talon had placed snipers somewhere else in the building, but they weren't his concern. 

The sound of sirens approaching made Reaper's lip curl. Didn't the fools know better than to announce their arrival like that? He could see the flashing lights through the handful of windows in the wall, playing over the machinery inside, and he adjusted his grip on fresh shotguns. 

They burst in through the door, guns drawn and shouting, and instantly the first two were knocked aside by a blast of helix rockets. Screams replaced the shouts and the rattle of gunfire echoed through the space. Reaper drew in a breath, his focus going to a spot behind some boxes that they wouldn't immediately notice, and his whole form dissolved to reform there in a few seconds. 

The first officer he shot went down silently, though the blast of a shotgun made his partner whip around with a cry. Her bullets flew through Reaper's suddenly intangible body and she cried out in fear as he flooded towards her, smoky form encircling her before he solidified at her side. A blast to the ribs took her out and before she even hit the ground Reaper was scanning for his next target.

The bravado of their first push had started to collapse into chaos and shouting. Reaper saw the soldier dash to a new location, mowing down two of the officers in his line of sight as he went. As he fell into a crouch, Reaper saw that his side was wet, dark against the deep grey of his Talon uniform. He'd been hit. 

Reaper felt rage blossom in his stomach and gathered himself. New guns came to his hands as he dropped the old and he threw himself forward, bursting into the center of a knot of officers. As he turned, instinct and anger took over, his shots flying in every direction and felling anyone unlucky enough to be in their path. 

When he finally stilled, there was no one standing who'd been within range. The officers still outside the door were turning back, shouting for a retreat, and Reaper heard the crack of a sniper rifle felling another of them and drawing further screams. He crossed the distance to the soldier, coming to his knee. 

The soldier just looked at him, then past his shoulder to scan for more targets. There was blood pooling around his foot and Reaper could see the tear in his jacket where the bullet had ripped through him. It didn't look like it had pierced him entirely, skidding instead along his ribs and opening a wide wound that was bleeding badly. Still, it was relatively minor. A new scar, not something life-threatening as long as they got him to a medic soon. 

Reaper's earpiece crackled with the order to pull out so the cleanup crew could take over, and he extended a hand to the soldier as he started to struggle to his feet. There was a slight pause before he took it, dragging himself up along with Reaper. 

The soldier swayed slightly on his feet and Reaper ducked forward to get under his arm before he could collapse.

"Let's go," he said, shuffling into motion towards the door where their transport was waiting. The soldier stumbled along with him, clearly weakened and holding his rifle in a slack grip. 

"Reyes?" came his voice after a few paces. Reaper stiffened, almost tripping over the arm of an officer on the ground. "What-- where am I?"

"Keep walking," Reaper said, tugging him forward. Jack resisted him a little, looking around. 

"Who are these people?" he asked, then he hissed and started to lift his hand to his side. "What happened?"

"We can't do this right now," Reaper said, a growl in his voice. "We need to go. You need to be the soldier again for me."

Jack took a few steps, but Reaper could read reluctance and confusion in the way he was tensing against his side. As they reached the door and the transport came into sight, the resistance suddenly evaporated and Reaper knew that Jack was gone again. 

His handlers took him the second the transport touched down, rushing him to a gurney and looking over the hastily applied coagulant that Reaper had sprayed across his wound. It was enough to stop the bleeding on the trip back to base and the handlers seemed content as they wheeled him away.

Reaper had to go into the debriefing and lie through his teeth that there had been nothing out of the ordinary during the mission. Luckily, his supervisors seemed happy enough about the results that they didn't pry too far, but Reaper left with more anger than usual writhing in his throat.

He watched through the glass as the medics stitched up the soldier's side. He was impassive as the needle went through his flesh, though whether it was because of painkillers or their control wasn't clear. They spread a clean bandage over the stitched wound, then sent him out with a pair of handlers flanking him. 

It was so much effort to keep this one man contained and controlled, Reaper thought as he sat alone in his room. They had to want to use him as a symbol soon. It wasn't worth it otherwise. If they could show the world that Jack Morrison was working for them, it would be a blow to Overwatch's carefully reconstructed image. But they didn't know that he was starting to flicker back into awareness. Perhaps it was being around a familiar partner that was causing it. Reaper highly doubted he'd still be going out on missions if his handlers had any idea how close to coherency he could be.

The soldier was left out of stasis to allow his side to heal at a natural rate, and seeing him around the base was uncomfortable. He was never without an escort and they selected his food in the dining hall and directed him through exercises that wouldn't exacerbate his wound in the gym. Reaper stayed as far away as he could. If his presence triggered another bout of awareness, it would be hell for both of them. 

The daily reports mentioned no flickers, though. Reaper read them every time they were posted to the system. The soldier's minders were delighted with how well he'd was handling the longer period out of stasis without continued conditioning. His behavior was described as impeccable and he was healing at the expected rate without signs of infection or complications from the nanite enhancers. They'd make the scarring worse, Reaper knew, but speed the process up significantly. He remembered how Jack had always hated the scars that covered his body. Too many bad memories, he said. Well, he wouldn't remember where this one came from, at least. 

A message popped onto the screen Reaper was reading on. It was another assignment, sending both of them to Finland for an in-and-out pickup of some intel. It wouldn't be too intense on the soldier, but the materials they were picking up were from the researcher who'd developed the technique they were using on him. She'd be interested to see it's effectiveness during the handoff. 

Reaper rubbed a hand over his forehead, sighing. Europe was a big place, but there was still a stronger Overwatch presence there. It was a risk, even if command deemed it within acceptable parameters.

They'd be leaving the following evening, and Reaper spent the day pacing the halls, feeling trapped and touchy. Wherever the soldier was, he was out of Reaper's sight until they gathered at the plane that would take them north.

The soldier was silent and still as they rode, his face blank even without the visor. His eyes focused on nothing, and Reaper thought wryly that at least he wasn't bored on the trip. A few other agents went with them, but they were backup for the most part, and when they finally arrived at the landing strip, it was the soldier and Reaper who were ushered into the high speed transport immediately. 

They were dropped outside an unremarkable concrete building at the end of a service road. A van was parked out front, but no other signs of activity. The briefing had told them that their entrance would be around the back and the soldier led the way, walking with a surety that he would never have had on a mission if he were himself. Reaper fell in behind him, letting him take point as always. 

The unlocked back door led into an unremarkable hallway, lined with beige doors all the way down to the elevator at one end. The lighting was low as they headed down towards it, the frosted windows on the doors completely black, but Reaper could hear the soft whirr of air conditioning coming through the vents. 

It felt a little claustrophobic in the small service elevator. The soldier didn't look at Reaper during the ride up to the fourth floor, but readied his rifle as the doors slid open.

The wide room beyond was a lab of some kind, mostly dark except for a few areas lit by solitary lamps. For a moment it seemed unoccupied, but the rustle of papers and sound of a rolling chair made Reaper notice a broad woman in a lab coat who'd been sitting near one of the desks with the lights on. She had brown hair and ruddy cheeks with a face that looked accustomed to smiling, judging by the wrinkles around her eyes. 

"Are you the men from Talon?" she asked, utterly unabashed about her loud voice. Reaper stepped up past the soldier.

"Dr. Virtanen," Reaper said, and at a nod from the scientist he went on. "Do you have our materials?"

"Yes," she said, putting a hand on a cardboard file box on the table next to her. "And half a dozen more control chips. Do you have my test subject?"

Reaper frowned behind his mask, but her eyes had already flicked to the soldier. They widened behind her glasses. She moved forward, brushing past Reaper without a second glance to stand in front of the soldier instead. 

"Incredible," she murmured. Reaper sighed and strode over to grab the box, flipping open the lid to check that what they needed was inside. As she'd promised, there were several file folders of documents and six little boxes sealed with electronic locks. He closed the lid again, turning back to see the doctor taking the soldier's pulse. 

"We've got what we came for. Your payment will be deposited as soon as I report back to my superiors," he said, crossing back over to the pair of them. 

"Truly remarkable," Dr. Virtanen said as though she'd heard nothing he'd said. "The will is entirely dominated, but his functionality is not diminished. Is he able to be sent out on his own? Can he innovate?"

"I don't know," Reaper said. "We're going now."

"The mental strain must be intense. The consciousness is not meant to function with independence suppressed," she blathered on. Reaper reached out to push her hand off of the soldier's wrist, and for the first time she looked towards him instead of at her guinea pig.

"We're going," he said again.

"Just make sure they keep up with regular conditioning," she said as though she was admonishing a careless child. "It may be unpleasant to witness, but it is crucial to maintaining his docile state!"

"Fine," Reaper said, putting a hand on the soldier's shoulder to steer him back towards the elevator. He kept the box under one arm, jabbing the call button with his elbow and waiting with his back turned to the doctor. 

His earpiece crackled, asking for an ETA, and Reaper grimaced. The sooner that they got back, the sooner he'd be able to distract himself from wondering what was so unpleasant about Jack's conditioning.

The elevator doors closed behind them. Reaper lifted a hand to his ear, turning on the mic. "Ten minute delay, command. No cause for alarm."

Acknowledgement came back over the radio, then silence. The elevator reached the ground floor and Reaper stepped out, bending to set the box on the linoleum in front of it. He flipped off the lid again. 

The soldier came to stand beside him as Reaper grabbed the thickest file, scanning the empty corridor as if he were watching for assailants. Reaper struggled for a second to turn the pages with his thumb, then tipped up his mask to yank his glove off with his teeth. It proved much easier to flip open the file that way, and he skimmed the first few pages. They were just a summary of similar research being done by other groups, irrelevant to his curiosity, and he kept going until a page of printed color photos caught his eye.

There was a figure in shorts strapped facedown onto a table, clearing fighting desperately against the restraints. A doctor in a surgical mask was leaning over him, displaying a device that looked something like a ECG pad. The next photo showed it being attached to a scarred spot at the back of the subject's neck, and in the following photo he was lying still and relaxed, staring blankly to the side as the wires trailed off towards a large machine behind the table. 

Reaper's eyes moved to the paragraph below the image.

_Subject 19's original consciousness is reintroduced before conditioning process begins. This allows for maximum efficacy of process. Restraining the subject before inducing initial consciousness is recommended due to transitional shock and initial pain of conditioning process._

Original consciousness meant that Jack would have been present during the conditioning he'd been going through every few days. Reaper had never been present for the sessions, but he'd always envisioned them as relatively boring. If Jack had been there, he would have been fighting. If Jack was there, he would have been in pain. 

Reaper reached out to grab the soldier by the wrist, checking for bruises. There were a few faint abrasions on the thin skin, though Reaper knew that they'd been pushing the time between conditioning sessions with his injury. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

The soldier pulled his hand away, brow furrowing slightly. Reaper realized his mask was still up from when he'd removed his glove and wondered if they'd bothered to program the soldier to recognize his actual face. 

Then, "Reyes?"

Shit. This was not the time. Reaper stood, dragging his mask back down into place. He tossed the file into the box in front of him. 

"What's going on?" Jack asked, looking around the hallway with much more than the clinical stare he'd been giving it before. "What is this place?"

"You need to be quiet," Reaper said, putting the lid back on the cardboard box and picking it up again. He took a step down the hall towards the door to their transport, but Jack reached out to grab his arm. 

"No-- what's happening? Where am I?" He circled around to block Reaper's path, holding his rifle like a blockade. 

"Morrison, this is not the fucking time! You're going to be gone again in ten seconds, it's not worth it." Reaper extended his free hand to push Jack's rifle down. "Just don't."

"You're not immediately trying to shoot me, so there's something seriously wrong," Jack said, stubborn as always. "Talk to me!"

Reaper glared for a second, then turned his head as his earpiece came alive. "We hear shouting. Do you need an extraction?"

He brought a hand to his ear. "No. Stand down."

There would be no hiding the fact that Jack had emerged after this. They'd want to know what was going on, how long it had been happening. Reaper's involvement would be impossible to hide, not if they got an inkling that he hadn't immediately turned to take Jack down the instant he showed up this time. 

Jack had always been a stubborn bastard, though, and Reaper couldn't say his insistence was out of character in the least. 

"I don't have time to explain now," Reaper said in a growl. "We need to move. I need you to trust me--"

"Like hell!" Jack snapped. 

"You don't have a choice!" Reaper replied. "It's this, or I put a load of shot in your chest to shut you up."

"Is that supposed to make me trust you?"

"It's supposed to make you start moving! That way." Reaper pointed down the hall, back towards the elevator. There was a corridor leading off to the left that the floorplans said would lead to another door. It was locked, but shotguns were good for those sorts of things. He turned without waiting for Jack to mull things over. 

The footfalls behind him told him that Jack had made the right decision and he quickened his own pace. As he walked, he reached up to rip out his earpiece, tossing it to the floor and crushing it under his boot. 

"Reyes," Jack said again as they passed through a pair of double doors. Reaper could see the exit up ahead. "I've been with you for awhile, right? I can remember some of it. What were we doing?"

"Stop asking questions," Reaper said. As they reached the door, he turned and shoved the cardboard box at Jack. "If anything happens, that needs to be destroyed. It'll slow them down."

"Slow who down? Talon?"

"Shut up." Reaper raised a gun and blasted out the lock on the door, flinging it open in the process. He could feel the cool night air on his one ungloved hand as they emerged. The facility was on the edge of a cliff that overlooked a wooded area. Reaper moved to the edge, looking down. It would be easy enough to shadow step down by himself, but carrying a second person with him was hard at the best of times.

There really weren't any other options, though. Reaper turned back towards Jack. 

"Come here," he said, gesturing. Jack looked dubious, but he seemed to get that there wasn't much else he could do with himself and stepped close. "When I say, hold your breath and close your eyes. Keep a tight grip on that box and try not to move too much."

"What are you--"

"For fuck's sake, Morrison! I'll explain everything later." Reaper reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve, yanking him in to his side. He put his arm around his waist, avoiding the spot that was still bandaged, and didn't wait for Jack to argue. "Now!"

The sensation of sinking into the shadows was a familiar one now, but Reaper couldn't really blame Jack for his instinctive fear. He reached out, grabbing on to Reaper's jacket, and then they were in the nothingness that lay between any two points.

They emerged a few moments later and Jack stumbled away. The box hit the ground hard as he dropped it, scattering papers, and he fell to his knees to retch. The motion made him clutch his side with a yelp of pain, confused and shaking. 

Reaper took a shaky step forward to start collecting the files that had fallen. He felt a little woozy from traveling with a second person, but it was something he'd been expecting so it didn't incapacitate him. 

"Breathe," he told Jack without looking over at him. "The nausea passes quickly."

"Don't tell me that blue girl wants to blow chunks every time you take her somewhere," Jack grunted, slowly coming up from all fours to sit back on his heels. 

Reaper smirked. "You get used to it."

Jack didn't say anything to that, and Reaper dumped the last of the papers in the box, closing the lid again.

"So," said Jack as Reaper got to his feet. "Are you ready to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Not really," Reaper said. "But I will. We're defecting. You've been under Talon control for nearly six months."

Jack processed that for a moment, though it didn't seem to phase him as much as it could have. "And why are you helping me?"

Reaper didn't have an answer ready and had to pause for an instant longer than was natural. "Someone's paying me to get you out," he said. 

"Bullshit," Jack replied. "Not even the yahoos at Overwatch have more funding than Talon. If you're working against them suddenly, it's not for money."

There was no way Reaper could say it was because he didn't want to see Jack hurt again, so he forced a laugh. "Believe whatever you want, Morrison. I just need to deliver you and that box to my contact."

What a tangled web, Reaper thought. Now he needed to find someone to pass Jack off to before it became obvious he was flying blind. Then again, Jack wasn't stupid and he knew Reaper too well. It seemed likely he wouldn't be able to keep bluffing for long. 

"What's in the box?" Jack asked, reaching for it. Reaper slapped a hand down on the lid.

"Don't," he said. It wouldn't be that hard for Jack to put the pieces together if he started reading about the mind control tech. Not for the first time, Reaper wished that Jack was a little more stupid and less stubborn. "We have other priorities."

"Like what? Meeting your 'friend'?" Jack sighed, then reached up to unfasten his visor, pulling it away from his face. There were dark circles under his eyes.

"Like checking ourselves for tracking devices," Reaper said. It had only just occurred to him, but he wouldn't put it past Talon. If there was something subdermal on Jack, they wouldn't be able to do much about it, but their gear had all come from Talon too and could easily be bugged.

He reached up to take off his own mask, lifting it back from his face. Jack's sharp intake of breath made him grimace. It had been awhile since he looked in a mirror, but he knew what Jack was seeing. His brown skin transitioned to black across half his face, the surface shiny like a beetle's shell. His teeth had grown sharp, his eyes glowed a faint red, and when he opened his mouth his burned cheek split wide in a rictus grin that extended nearly to his ear. It was a nasty sight and the corrupted parts of him extended down his neck and over the rest of his body.

"I didn't know," Jack said.

Reaper tasted anger like copper on his tongue. "Of course not. Why would you wonder what she'd done?"

"Reyes--"

"Stop staring and take off everything you can spare. They could have put a bug in anything." Reaper shrugged off his heavy coat, letting it drop to the ground, then started to unbuckle his belt, leaving it on top of the pile of fabric. Whatever he was losing wouldn't be worth getting hunted down.

Jack was slower to get started, but he stripped off his Talon jacket and ammo belt, dropping them with Reaper's things. He grabbed a couple of cartridges for his rifle, tucking them in his pockets, but he would have limited shots for the time being. He was left in a black sleeveless shirt and charcoal grey cargo pants. 

Reaper was dressed similarly underneath his outfit. He'd stripped off his body armor, and patches of pure black skin were visible where he was no longer covered. He shouldn't have blamed Jack for staring, but it annoyed him anyway.

"Let's get moving," Reaper said, nodding away from the cliff they'd come down. He saw Jack start to lift his visor to his face again and shook his head. "No. That's the first thing I'd put a tracker in."

The corners of Jack's mouth tightened, but he didn't argue. He threw his visor towards the pile. It clunked against Reaper's mask before settling, the inside glowing in the semi-darkness.

They walked through the woods for nearly an hour until Reaper could hear Jack's breathing growing labored and his steps less even. He was still injured, but Reaper had half expected him to slip away as they walked and turn back into the soldier. When he came a halt at the bottom of a gentle hill and turned back, though, it was still Jack. 

"You have to rest," Reaper said. Jack took a few more steps, then breathed out hard, pressing a hand to his side. 

"Where are we?" he asked, looking around. There were no visible paths through the woods, but Reaper knew there was a small town another two miles east. He was relatively sure they'd been going in the right direction, but the rising sun would confirm it. 

"Not far from a city. I can get in touch with my contact there," Reaper said. He sank into a comfortable crouch, setting down the box he'd been carrying before nodding to a flat spot among the roots of a tree. "Rest."

"You're going to keep watch, huh?" Jack asked, though he was already moving towards the spot Reaper had pointed to. 

"If I wanted you dead, I would have dropped you when we stepped from the cliff down to here," Reaper replied. "Besides, I don't sleep."

Jack lowered himself down with a soft grunt, leaning back against the tree. "Convenient."

"I think so." For a second, Reaper almost smiled. It was nice to hear Jack giving him shit after so long with his empty puppet walking around.

Jack let his head rest back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. He let his rifle rest across his knees. "I feel like I haven't slept for a month."

"I'll wake you at dawn." Reaper watched Jack try to settle in as best he could in the uncomfortable resting spot. It was about as good as they were going to get, though, and Jack didn't complain. 

When Reaper touched his shoulder in the morning, Jack's eyes opened instantly. He didn't argue about moving along, though Reaper could hear his joints pop as he got to his feet. 

It only took about an hour more of walking before they hit a highway and in the distance Reaper could see angular buildings between the trees. On the flat surface, their pace was much quicker, and they reached the edge of the town not long after that. Only a few folks were out an about, walking dogs or jogging, and as soon as they saw Reaper's face they scurried away, probably heading right for a phone to call the police. Lovely. At least a mask kept him from being mistaken for a literal demon.

"I need a computer," Reaper said glancing down the street. "We could break in somewhere, but I'd prefer not to attract more attention."

"We could just go to a library," Jack said, pointing at a handpainted sign to one side of the road with a pair of words written on it. "It says the library is that way."

The second word on the sign was "bibliotek," which was close enough to Spanish for Reaper to huff out a laugh. "That works too. Hope you didn't forget your card."

"Oh, would you look at that? I must have left it in my other uniform," Jack said, flashing a tiny smile. 

They headed along the street until they reached a building with "Kirjasto" emblazoned on the front. The door was locked with a simple bolt, but Reaper could see a librarian inside. He offered his widest grin, gesturing him over, and the man fled in visible terror. 

"Was that necessary?" Jack asked, sighing. 

"I was smiling! You try next time, pretty boy," Reaper said. He took a step back, then brought his boot up to kick the door open with a crash. The damage really wasn't too bad, but Jack looked disapproving as they headed inside. 

The librarian was long gone, and it took a few minutes of fiddling to turn on the power strip and get the computers booted up. The damn thing wanted a library card number to log in, though, and Reaper straightened after his second attempt smashing random numbers and getting an error in Finnish in response. 

"Hang on," Jack said, grabbing his wrist before he could smash the screen with the butt of his shotgun. Turning, Jack ran off into the library, scanning through the shelves he passed and then disappearing out of sight. He was gone only for a few minutes, but Reaper's ears pricked to distant sirens and he grit his teeth. 

Jack returned, running quick and holding up a green, round-edged card. "The librarian was willing to lend me his," he said blandly, smirking. Reaper took it from him, tapping in the numbers before all but slamming down the enter key. 

Here they were, the top warriors of their generation, the symbols of organizations with vast and secretive powers, and they were arguing with an outdated library PC. It would have been funny if Reaper had time to chuckle about it. As it was, the sirens were drawing closer and Reaper had to move quickly. 

It was simple enough to open up an email program, and Reaper still remembered the username and password for a dummy account he'd made for just such a purpose. The address he entered in the "to" field was Overwatch's standard PR line, but Reaper's fingers flew over the keys, entering his the data from his old security clearance. It wouldn't hack into the system, but Athena would certainly notice and prioritize the message. He only hoped it would be enough. 

_Urgent extraction: Morrison, Reyes._

They would be more than able to trace the location from the message and Reaper hit send before standing. It was his trump card, a lifeline he had hoped to never need. Now that the information was out there and unsecured, he couldn't use it again, but hopefully it would be enough. 

"Now we wait," he said. 

"You sent that message to Overwatch." Jack ran his finger along the edge of the library card. "You don't expect me to believe they're your contact, do you?"

Reaper reached up to scratch at his jaw on the flesh half of his face. "They'll get you out of here."

"I don't want to go back to that place."

"And I don't care. They can help you." Reaper picked up the box from where he'd set it down next to the computer. "They did something to control you. The monkey will be able to figure it out. I think Ziegler is back with them, too--"

"How were they controlling me?" Jack asked sharply. Reaper looked up, noting the sharp line between his eyebrows. "Reyes!"

"An implant in your neck," Reaper said. "I don't know how it works. I'm not--"

"There's something in my neck?" Jack reached up, feeling his nape, then his fingers curled against the scar there. "Fucking Christ--" He started to claw at the skin, tearing at the surface almost immediately and drawing blood. 

"Hey-- hey, Morrison!" Reaper grabbed him by the arm, yanking his hand with its bloodied fingernails away. "Pull it together. They'll get it out of you once you're safe."

"And Overwatch is going to just take me back with open arms?" Jack demanded. 

"Of course they are! That's their schtick," Reaper replied. "I don't care what you do once you're there, Jack, just let them help you."

Jack's jaw worked, then he pulled his hand away from Reaper's grip. The distant sirens were closer now and he looked towards the door. "How long until they get here?"

"They have contacts in Helsinki. That's only ten minutes away by high-speed transport, so it all depends on how soon they dispatch someone after they get the message." Reaper put a hand on the cardboard box. It's edges were a bit dented and worse for the wear, but it's contents were still intact. "There's information in here on what was done to you. It should be enough for them to figure out how to reverse it."

"They're coming for you, too, though," Jack said. "You put your name on that message."

Reaper huffed out a laugh. "If they actually expect to find Reyes here, they're going to be disappointed."

"Don't play that game with me. Reaper wouldn't have busted me out of Talon. Reaper wouldn't have stopped to let me sleep. Reaper doesn't call me 'Jack'." He jerked his chin towards the door, the sound of the approaching police cars making him raise his voice. "We need to move."

Reaper gritted his teeth, grabbing the box and falling in behind Jack as he ran further into the library. There was a door on the far wall under an illuminated sign that Reaper assumed read "exit," and he was proved right when busting through it set off a wailing alarm in the building behind them. 

The library's back faced a lawn with a few picnic tables and beyond that the woods began again. They headed towards the edge of the trees at a sprint, the sound of yelling echoing through the library at their backs. Jack pulled ahead, but Reaper kept him in sight as he dashed away, until they were far enough in that the sirens were faint and foggy. 

Jack slowed, his hand coming to his injured side as he all but stumbled the last few steps and caught himself on a tree trunk. Reaper stepped up next to him, putting a hand under his elbow to support him. 

"This should be far enough to delay them until Overwatch arrives," Reaper said. "You can fire your rockets to get their attention."

Jack nodded, his breath wheezing slightly as he tried to steady it. The pace slowly returned to normal as the minutes passed, and no barking dogs or pounding footsteps signaled the police bearing down on them. 

"Reyes," Jack said suddenly. "Do you hear that?"

Reaper strained, and after a moment he picked out the distant whirr of a transport engine. When he looked up, he could just see it through the trees, slowly circling a ways away, probably scoping out the library. 

Jack lifted his rifle, aiming up, and fired a set of rockets. They exploded in the air, bright and loud, and a moment later the transport turned and started to fly towards them. They moved as one towards a thinner patch of trees to be more visible as it descended to hover above the canopy. 

Someone leaned out of the open door, then a ladder unfurled, smacking the ground a few feet away. Reaper cocked his head slightly towards it. 

"I'll shadow step once you're up," he said. Jack gave him a frown, then nodded towards the box.

"You'll have to. I can't carry that thing and climb, and you said we need it." He reached out to grab the ladder, putting his foot on the lowest rung.

Reaper chuckled, but hefted the box slightly in his hands. "Stop worrying and climb. They're getting antsy."

There were two heads poking out of the transport above, and Reaper took a few steps back so he could see his destination on the main deck. It barely took any effort to close his eyes and step up, and when he reformed he found himself instantly the target of half a dozen rifles. 

"Don't shoot," he said, raising the hand that wasn't holding the box to show it was empty. He lowered the box down to the metal floor slowly, the muzzles of the guns following him as he bent, then came back up. Two more soldiers were standing at the edge of the deck, looking down towards Jack. "Help him up. He's injured."

"Gabriel Reyes?" said a female voice, making Reaper turn slightly towards a woman who was clearly the commander. Her insignia looked shiny and new and her black hair was braided back tight from her round face. "You're under arrest."

"I figured I would be," Reaper said. He turned back to see the two near the ladder helping Jack take the last few rungs. As soon as he was onboard and they started to pull up the ladder, the transport lurched back into motion.

Reaper took a step toward Jack and all the rifles jerked back to aim at his head. The rush of air from outside the transport grew louder as they gained speed, and Reaper knew he didn't have much time. 

Without waiting for Jack to get to his feet, Reaper let his hold on his form dissolve. His integrity dissipated, flesh giving way to thick, black smoke full of darker particles. The rush of air from outside the carrier was enough to rush the smoke that he'd become out in an instant before the soldiers could do more than cry out in shock. 

As the wind carried him down and away, Reaper didn't look back. Jack would be taken care of and Reaper had done what he was obligated to. Going back to Talon wasn't an option, but Reaper had gone it alone before and he could do it again. 

His feet hit the ground, solid again, and he glanced up to see the transport disappearing into the distance. Reaper's flesh cheek twitched up in a smile, then he turned in the opposite direction and started to walk.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to dreadelion for Finnish insight and being a cutie ❤️


End file.
